


Overwatch - One Shots Collection

by yankeedoodz



Series: Overwatch: The Series [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comedy, Cute, I think the majority of it will be cute, Multi, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life, some drama but not too bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yankeedoodz/pseuds/yankeedoodz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots featuring your favorite characters of Overwatch like Junkman, Grandpa Soldier, Angry Japanese Man and Hyper Korean. It'll make you laugh, it'll make you cry, it'll make you wonder where your pants went! Please enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. D.Va goes bird watching (TO THE DEATH!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by this lovely http://safety-officer-barto.tumblr.com/image/147616637647 by this lovely person http://safety-officer-barto.tumblr.com/
> 
> Please enjoy!

Hana Song watched Reinhardt handle a tiny book about 1/16th his size with the delicacy and grace of a man half his size. She had ended her morning stream with her signature call-sign, "Don't forget, we're all Divas now!" and on her way to imbue her weight in Doritos (damn company still won't sponsor her) and Mountain Dew she noticed the elder Overwatch member carefully studying the tiny book with such reverence it boggled her.

"What up with the book?" she wondered aloud, unsure of whether or not to directly ask the Dragon Slayer.

Lúcio somehow heard her question through his headphones. He pulled them off and grinned at her. "Bird-watching, Rein likes to take walks sometimes and go bird-watching. Really relaxing, also pretty awesome if you're stuck with a creative block!"

Hana looked at Lúcio as if he grew a second head. "Whaaaa?" she droned, scratching her head. "Sooo, it's like Pokemon? Do you get to catch these birds?"

Before Lúcio could formulate a response, mercifully Angela stepped in. "No, it is as the name states, Hana, watching birds."

Hana furrowed her brows, scrunching up her nose she stared at Angela quizzically. "But… how do you win?"

"Perhaps you could find out yourself?" Angela suggested.

Hana grinned, jumping to her feet and pumping her arms. "Alrighty then! I'm gonna watch the shit out of those birds!"

Angela sighed and handed Hana a clear jar nearly filled to the brim with money labeled, in Korean, 'SWEAR JAR'. Hana, without shame, stuffed more money into the jar and plodded towards Reinhardt.

Like a knight accepting an epic quest, she pointed heroically at Reinhardt, proudly declaring, "Wanna watch some BIRDS?!"

Reinhardt looked at her for a moment then broke out in a hearty grin. "Of course, child!"

"Awesome! FIRST, DORITOS!"

Two bags of Doritos and a case of soda later, the two were out in an epic adventure of bird-watching. Hana had changed from her usual outfit of 'fuck-it pajamas' to a lovely cut-out crop-top with her signature bunny print on her chest, high-waisted shorts and a sun hat. Angela suggested the sun hat due to the blistering sun and warned her not to use it as a frisbee.

Hana did have to admit that having some time off to just enjoy the sunny day was awesome. Since the Recall, they haven't had time to relax. Overwatch moved from place to place constantly, one moment they're in Mexico stopping an Anti-Omnic uprising, the next they're in Finland preventing the activation of an Omnium.

She honestly forgot what it meant to relax, so this was a nice respite even if it made her a bit restless. Hana's bundle of snacks and drinks bounced uncomfortably in her pack as she trotted behind the imposing Reinhardt. He was easily the tallest of the group and probably the scariest looking one.

Reinhardt was a wall of muscle and mass, his footsteps thundering underneath him, his stature intimidating. Hana wondered if the Greek gods looked this scary. Still his personality didn't exactly match his appearance. He was gentle and kind almost to a fault and, despite his stature, he moved with liquid grace like a dancer. He certainly made Hana look like a clumsy fool, she had a reputation for tripping over nothing.

The two walked down a few parks in (ah where were they again?) Fort Harrison State Park, Indiana. Hana didn't understand why, but Soldier 76 really enjoyed Indiana. No matter where they went or what they did, it was almost a promise that Overwatch would end up in Indiana for a while.

Hana looked over Reinhardt. He looked like if Santa Claus took up a gym membership, the kindness in his smile juxtaposed with his beefy build as if he would hand out presents to good boys and girls and suplex anyone on his naughty list.

Reinhardt kept an eye on his book, occasionally looking around for any birds. Well, that was hardly a challenge. Birds flew around everywhere, chirping like crazy. But Rein didn't pay any attention to them, it was like he was looking for something in particular.

Hana was growing restless so she clambered up his arm and clamped on his shoulder, peering at his book. "What're we looking forr?"

Rein chuckled at the girl's antics, "Nothing in particular, and everything we can!"

"You sound like Zenyatta," she complained. Zenyatta was a smart dude and all but sometimes he said weird and confusing things.

Reinhardt hummed as he considered a response, his body vibrated like a monster truck idling. "There is not much in the way of rarity here," he answered. "But, we will see what we can find, eh?"

"Ohhhhh, when do we catch them and train them?"

Reinhardt threw his head back and laughed, nearly bucking Hana off his shoulder. "Catch them? Come now, child, you make me laugh sometimes!"

Hana didn't know what was so funny, but she laughed along as well, imitating Rein's epic laughter as best she could.

The two walked along for an hour, documenting the birds they saw, well, by documenting I mean Hana took three-hundred forty pictures of the forest, half of which were selfies and the other half were blurry pictures of birds in flight. Still, the two enjoyed her photography skills, Reinhardt commending her for getting a shot of a bird diving for her food at just the perfect moment.

"Angie made me that sandwich!" Hana whined, taking a selfie of her sad expression and another picture of her spilled food then texting that to everyone in Overwatch (whoops, accidentally sent that to Gabriel, well maybe he'll think it's funny).

"Ah, Han, look!"

She looked and watched Reinhardt in awe of a tiny bird perched on his hand. Hana gasped and immediately clambered up his arm and shoulder to watch the tiny bird. Unlike everything else that interacted with Reinhardt it was unafraid of the giant it was perched on. It hopped cautiously on his finger, staring quizzically at both Reinhardt and Hana.

What was that bird called. Brown Creeper! It was so small, appearing diminutive against Reinhardt's hand.

Hana slowly pulled a net out of nowhere. "Now the hunt begins…"

Reinhardt chuckled and flexed his hand to coax the tiny bird into flying away, to Hana's dismay. "Come, come, child. Let us rest over there."

The duo sat by a sparkling pond with plenty of geese and ducks about. Hana sat cross-legged, moving back and forth impatiently, watching as Reinhardt continued to study his book. "We saw the Brown Creeper, right?"

"Yes."

"That's the only rare one here?"

"Birds are fickle and sometimes do not enjoy certain climates other birds may love."

"Sounds like Pharah," Hana considered for a moment. "We need to find the other rare birds, right? That's how we win!"

"Win?"

"So, where are the birds? That little book has to know where it is, right?"

"Patience, child," Reinhardt said, smiling. "This book only knows what I know, it cannot tell you where other birds may be."

"Whaddya mean?"

Reinhardt handed her the book. It was old and flimsier than Hana expected, it felt like it would crumble in her hands if she didn't handle it properly. That explained why Reinhardt was so careful with it, the book look ancient now that she looked at it more properly!

She looked into the book, expecting encyclopedic knowledge of every bird in the world but instead were expertly drawn birds with a brief summary of what it was and dates written next to it. Hana looked up at Reinhardt, she was an expressive person, so much so you could practically see the question mark forming in her eyes.

Reinhardt laughed boisterously. "I am not sure what you expected, child, but that is not a guide to bird watching. It is my little hobby I have taken up since I was a child!"

Hana looked through the book more, in the beginning of the book the drawings of birds were crude and childlike with juvenile handwriting and the dates went all the way back to 2016. The earliest she saw was July 20th 2021. Hana did the math in her head, it would mean that Reinhardt had been doing this since he was 5 years old!

"Whoaaa, that's a long time, Rein!" Hana exclaimed, flipping through the book, seeing numerous German birds in these pages. As the years progressed, the drawings became more precise, clear, expertly crafted. The latest page was today, the drawing of the Brown Creeper look hyperrealistic, but this time there was a miniature drawing of Hana at the bottom, frowning as she dropped her sandwich on the floor. "Dat's me!"

Reinhardt nodded. "When I was a boy, I was a tiny, frail thing. Always sick, always weak. My mother took me out every weekend to watch birds, it became my favorite activity. It certainly beat sitting in a bed all day as well!"

Hana tried to imagine Reinhardt as a small, sick child but the thought was impossible to conjure. "Today reminded me of those childhood days," he continued, smiling broadly at Hana. "You are full of spirit, much like my mother!"

"I've been told I'm full of stuff before, not spirit though, so I'll take that!" Hana giggled, hugging Reinhardt's arm which was as thick as a tree. "Today was fun for me as well, Reiny!"

Reinhardt gasped as he looked at his watch (which was as big as a grandfather clock) and stood. "We must be getting home, child, your stream will begin soon, no?"

Hana laughed as she laid down on the grass, resting her head on her arms, uncharacteristically still for the first time in a long time. "They can wait, we still need to cover the rest of the park, don't we?"

Reinhardt hesitated but nodded and sat down beside her. "We do, it shall be a glorious day."


	2. Widowmaker Plays Nice (Doctor's Orders)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by this lovely picture http://maiqtells.tumblr.com/tagged/mercymaker please check out the artiest (http://maiqtells.tumblr.com/) as they are straight up amazing and YES expect a part two to this. I didn't realize how cute MercyxWidow could be until I saw those drawings, so yeah, enjoy!

“No.”

“Doctor’s orders,” Angela countered with a bright smile.

Amélie-- no, Widowmaker, tried to glare at Mercy but couldn’t. She looked away, avoiding Angela’s puppy-dog eyes and sunshine beautiful smile. It was difficult, if not impossible, to refuse anything from Angela if she persisted. 

But this was ridiculous. 

As part of Angela’s “medically sanctioned” therapy in order to integrate Widowmaker into Overwatch and treat her brainwashing from Talon, she was trying to order one of the greatest assassins in the world produced by Talon to wear that monstrosity of a sweater. 

It was a simple white sweater, a few sizes too big for Widow mind you, but it had the words “SHOW ME YOUR KITTIES” along with half the face of a grinning cat atop the message. Widow couldn’t take this sweater seriously, much less Angela. 

“Those orders are misplaced then,” Widow responded coolly, crossing her arms. “I am fine with what I am wearing.”

Angela maintained her pretty smile as she looked over Widow’s outfit. It was her usual bodysuit with it the zipper let down low to her navel, showing off her toned body and accentuating her cleavage and back. The good doctor was careful with where she looked but Widow knew she was avoiding looking at her chest.

“It will help with the cold,” Angela suggested.

Widow rolled her eyes, fiddling with her hair. “No, I do not get cold. Temperatures don’t affect me anymore. The cold doesn’t bother me, Dr. Ziegler.”

Angela pouted and tried to glare at Widow but it came off as cute and unintimidating. Widow figured if she could blush she would be beet red. “Call me Angela,” she said, poking Widow in the cheek. “Or Mercy. Dr. Ziegler sounds too professional, detached.”

“You are my doctor, are you not?”

“And your friend.”

Widow frowned, uncrossing her arms she stared at Angela in disbelief. It was difficult to tell, considering Widow’s range of emotions was as expansive as a blank piece of paper, but she was flabbergasted at that explanation. How could anyone be Widow’s friend? Why would anyone want to be her friend? 

Mind you, it wasn’t a self-pitying thing, it was based on logic. Widow was an incredibly efficient assassin, a powerful weapon utilized by Talon. Who could be friends with someone like this? Especially after her numerous attempts to kill former Overwatch members, one of which she crippled.

“Please?” Angela insisted. “It’s cute!”

“Would you offer to shirt to me… before I became this?”

Angela paused and Widow held her breath, anticipating this answer. She never outwardly showed it (save a few, ah, violent outbursts against certain Londoner) but it bothered her when people treated her as if she were made of glass. They treated her as if she were some… animal, some wild thing let off her leash and they were afraid of upsetting her or something.

But she knew it. She knew it when people paused when calling her. They wanted to call her Amélie, her old name. But that wasn’t who she was anymore, Amélie died when Gérard did. She hated it. She hated being thought of as some ghost, some shell of her former self. 

“No.” Angela shook her head, still smiling. “Amélie disliked cats, she was more of a dog person. She would have laughed at me for suggesting this. I figure, maybe you’ll like it!”

Widow exhaled. Something in her chest felt… weird. Like something fluttering in her ribcage, Widow couldn’t pinpoint this exact feeling, it felt uncomfortable but… it wasn’t something she hated. With an exasperated sigh, Widow took the sweater from Angela, trying her best not to smile as she slipped the monstrosity over her head.

“I worry about the medicinal benefits of this so-called treatment,” Widow snarked. “Perhaps I should get a second opinion.”

Angela frowned more, grabbing Widow’s hands. “No, don’t, I’m your doctor, Widowmaker!”

“Of course,” Widow said. “Let’s go see what the others think, shall we?”

D.Va thought it was adorable. “Selfie!” Hana exclaimed as she dragged Widow and took a picture of the two of them grinning, well, Hana was the only one smiling. Tracer soon noticed the shirt and began complimenting Widow’s new fashion trend, asking the assassin where she could get a shirt like that.

“I didn’t think you’d get caught dead in that, Widow!” Tracer said with a broad grin, linking her arm with hers. “It’s cute.”

“I have been told,” Widow said, managing a small smile. “It is part of my therapy, apparently.”

“For what, to turn you into a cutie?”

“I thought I already was.”

Tracer’s face turned a perfect shade of crimson and for once she quite speechless, a sight Widow certainly enjoyed. “C-come on, let’s get another picture in!” 

D.Va, Tracer and Widow took a few dozen pictures of which only three of them were uploaded to Hana’s “Instagram” account, whatever that was. Afterward, Widow refused to take the sweater off, not because she liked it, of course, that was a simply ridiculous concept. 

~==~

“Are you still having nightmares?” Angela asked. 

Widow wanted to focus on her question but it was difficult. Despite this being another therapy session, it was very informal. They were in Widow’s bedroom (it actually used to be Angela’s but they traded because Widow felt uncomfortable in her old--, that is, Amélie’s bedroom) and it was the middle of the night. Angela offered to sleep with her after Widow confided in these nightmares keeping her up at night.

They had just woken up after Widow began tossing and turning, muttering in French. Angela didn’t understand what she was saying but she heard the name Gérard. Angela immediately woke Widow up, took out her notebook and glasses and began writing this down.

Despite it being 2am and Angela’s hair was a mess, her eyes were sleepy, there was a bit of drool on the side of her mouth, Widow had to agree that she looked like an angel.

Widow nodded mutely, unsure about speaking for fear her voice may betray her cool demeanor.

“Do you know what it was about?” Angela asked, her blue eyes were unnaturally bright in this dim setting.

“Gérard,” Widow answered, her voice sounding hollow. “It is always of him.”

“It was a traumatic event,” Angela said softly, putting her notebook down and placing a hand on Widow’s. “Your first… target.”

Widow stared at Angela blankly, she wasn’t very sure of how to respond to that. Angela exhibited this unconditional kindness towards Widow. Her cautiousness with her language and words, her offers to help and simply be there for Widow was incredible.

The other members of Overwatch were kind as well, but Angela was different. Overwatch accepted Widow even forgave her for her crimes but they were scared to approach her (well, except D.Va maybe). They were worried if they said something wrong, Widow may snap and start killing people indiscriminately. 

But Angela wasn’t afraid. She spoke with Widow and treated her as a friend not as a living weapon. 

“I remember that night,” Widow said finally. “But…”

Angela squeezed Widow’s hand gingerly, her blue eyes gently coaxing Widow to continue. “But I cannot trust my own mind,” she continued, huffing impatiently. “I can remember everything Talon did to me, to Amélie. But I cannot go against my instincts. My instincts to fight or run from Talon, one word, one phrase will turn me into their weapon again.”

Angela frowned, which bothered Widow, as if it were her fault or something that she was like this. It was as if Angela blamed herself which made Widow feel guilty (a strange feeling, to be honest). 

“I think you can trust yourself, Widow,” Angela said, smiling softly. “You’re here after all.”

Widow raised an eyebrow, causing the doctor to giggle. “Well, if you were a weapon, as you claim to be, you would not be here. You came here, to Overwatch, by your volition, your own choice.”

“How do you know that?” Widow pulled away from Angela, a perceptible frown on her face. “How do you know Talon hasn’t ordered me to infiltrate Overwatch, how do you know I won’t wake up at night and kill you in your sleep like Gérard?”

“I don’t,” Angela admitted, leaning in to hug Widow (an act that startled the assassin), “But that’s the point of trusting you. I know you wouldn’t do that, you would stop yourself. Plus, anyone who is so worried about losing control can’t be too bad. You aren’t the villain, Talon is and we’ll stop them, I promise.”

Widow paused for a moment before squeezing Angela back cautiously, being affectionate like this was a foreign sensation, like exercising with a muscle that had atrophied into nothing. Widow knew she couldn’t really feel anything anymore, not even physical pain, due to Talon’s experimentation, but for a moment, she could’ve sworn she felt Angela’s warmth as they hugged.

“Merci, cherie,” Widow whispered into Angela’s ear. 

She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would hold for her, but she knew if Angela was there it couldn’t be too bad. The two slept together, Angela offering her services as a pillow and Widow enjoyed the most comfortable sleep ever.


	3. Jesse McCree Joins Overwatch (Kinda)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some changes to my other story, Heroes Never Die, in that Ana is now not in chapter 1. The chapter was written before Ana was even announced but now that her timeline is established it doesn't mesh well with my story's continuity. She'll be a prominent character eventually, just need to tweak a few numbers. But anyways, enjoy!

“You know, you should really stop smoking,” Angela told McCree as the two sat upon a recently destroyed building ( _not_ courtesy of D.Va deciding the best way to clear out a Talon base was to activate her self-destruct sequence _whilst her entire team was still inside_ ).

Jesse raised an eyebrow at the good doctor as he considered his vanilla-chocolate ice cream and bite a big chunk of it out. “Still tryin’ to get me to stop, doc?”

Angela shrugged, eating her strawberry ice cream as she looked at the landscape. “You have a habit of not listening, Jesse. Remember when I told you not to leave your cup in the sink, unclean?”

“Jack has _no_ right to get upset,” McCree argued. “You saw the state of his room after Fourth of July.”

Angela sighed, remembering the party he and McCree threw for Independence Day. It was absolute chaos. “I still don’t understand your nation’s obsession for gunpowder and explosions.”

“It’s the best.”

“Remember when you first joined Overwatch?”

Jesse McCree sat back, staring at the sunset as he remembered that fateful day. “Yeah, I’ll never forget it…”

“Okay, so, the local authorities are on their way but I don’t think we can save the ice-cream truck--” D.Va stared at Cowboy Uncle and Angel Mom reminiscing like a couple of retirees. “Um, what’re you two doing?”The two didn’t respond, they merely stared into the sunset, recalling the past.

~==~

Jack Morrison looked at this kid up and down, raising an eyebrow, he looked at Gabriel Reyes for an explanation. The two looked like they were just in a fight moments ago, their clothes were a mess, Gabriel’s sleeve was torn, the new kid had a shiny black eye and a bleeding lip, but they stood there almost in embarrassment.

Except the kid just glared at Jack, well, as best he could with a swollen eye.

“This the recruit?” Jack asked, chuckling as the kid sneered at him.

“Yeah,” Gabriel mumbled. “Hell of a marksman, almost as good as Ana.”

Ana Amari yelled something at Gabriel in Arabic from her room, causing the Latino to shout a response back in Spanish. “I said _almost_.”

“I’m sure I’m better,” the kid grumbled. Gabriel smacked him upside the head, Jack expected another fight to break out but they restrained themselves.

“I think I recognize him,” Jack said, trying to remember where he saw his face. “Wasn’t he this up and comer from Deadlock?”

Instantly, the kid froze and glared frostily at Gabriel who ignored him. “You _told_ me he wouldn’t recognize me!”

“I said he _might_ not,” Gabriel countered, avoiding the kid’s eye-contact. “Yeah, Morrison. This is Jesse McCree, lieutenant of the Deadlock gang.”

“ _Former_ ,” Jesse corrected. “Ya’ll pulled me out the gang after all, to join your, uh, special boy-band?”

“McCree…” Gabriel snarled. “Shut your trap. That’s a standing order.”

“I ain’t part of Overwatch!”

“You _are_ now!”

“Listen,” Jack interrupted. “I knew you were bringing a newbie around, but, you sure about this Reyes?”

It was Jesse’s turn to snarl. He sneered at Jack, approaching him in a challenging manner, poking his chest (though it felt like poking a brick wall). “Listen old man”-- old man? Jack was barely 35 but looked mid-20s -- “I can whup your ass up and down this stupid base _without_ my six-shooter. Reyes here can attest to that.”

Jack looked at Reyes, trying really hard not to laugh as he noticed how unscathed Gabriel was from their previous fight and how messed up Jesse looked, then back at McCree. It was obvious that the fight was one-sided but Jesse seemed to insist that he _won_.

Gabriel looked tired, almost as if regretting this decision but he hadn’t pulled the kid out, so maybe he saw something in him. Jack trusted Gabe’s instincts, even the kid’s attitude could be put to good use. Jack didn’t need another blind soldier, a _sheep_ willing to follow the herd, he wanted people he could count on people who didn’t like the establishment and openly rebelled.

“Alright kid, how’s about a few rounds then?” Jack said, grinning broadly.

Gabriel paled but McCree grinned just as excitingly as Captain Morrison was. “But you said you’re a sharpshooter, how’s ‘bout I call my old friend Ana up here?”

To that, Gabriel smacked his forehead and mumbled something under his breath about finding the new doc for McCree.

The Range was impressive, even for Jesse. It was impossibly big, the ceiling so high up it was more like the open sky than an enclosed underground bunker. Targets dotted the ever-moving field that served as the shooting range, tiny silhouettes of people bounced up and down, back and forth, some remained stationary, some popped up for half a second then slipped into the floor.

McCree whistled, clearly impressed by this, it certainly beat shooting whisky bottles in his backyard (not that he _drank_ , mind you, that’s illegal). With his impressive eye-sight, he was able to see the targets as far fifty kilometers away (some of them had their faces defaced to resemble people, McCree recognized Jack’s and Gabriel’s faces and many others).

“Impressed?” Gabriel asked, his shit-eating grin pissed McCree off. So the Overwatch hopeful just glared at him and shook his head fiercely.

“At what? A stupid field?” McCree asked, laughing derisively. “Naw, partner, just admiring those painted targets. I think I see yer ugly mug out there Reyes.”

Gabriel growled and stepped forward, ready to chokeslam McCree but Jack stopped him, trying to contain himself. He nodded at Jesse, smiling broadly at the kid’s rebellious attitude. “We’re gonna have a bit of a competition, see which sharpshooter is the best, since you rank your own skills so highly.”

“Damn right,” McCree chuckled. “They don’t call me ‘Quick Draw’ McCree fer nothing.”

“You’re right, they don’t call you that,” Gabriel said. “ _No one_ calls you that, only you call yourself that. Dumbass.”

“Now hold on..”

“Ah, there she is.” Jack pointed behind McCree and his heart sank.

Ana Amari showed up with the coolest looking sniper rifle ever. It looked like a heavily modified archaic OSV-96 rifle from Russia with, what McCree was guessing were, .50 calibre rounds. It was extremely overkill for a bleeding _shooting range_. McCree was half jealous half angry at Ana’s overzealous attempt to show him up and way more tempted to just kick her ass as he had promised.

The Egyptian looked like she had just gotten up from a nap, her long black hair was messily tied up in a bun, she wore a wrinkled t-shirt two sizes too big for her with David Hasselhoff's face on her chest, shorts and she went barefoot. Ana sized McCree up and glared at Gabriel and Jack.

“This the newbie?” she asked, she scrunched up her nose as if McCree smelled bad.

Gabriel nodded meekly while Jack tried to remain as stoic as possible, nodding in affirmation.

“Jesse McCree.” He held out his hand to shake, grinning at Ana but it wasn’t a very friendly smile. It was more of a ‘I can’t wait to destroy you and take your gun’ look if anything. Ana grinned back, an almost animalistic smile and took his hand, squeezing hard. “Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, ma’am.”

“Charm will not get you anywhere,” Ana said. “So, wanna go first then?”

“Whatever’s okay with you, either way, still gonna win.”

“Ooh, _confidence_ , I can’t wait to beat that out of you.”

“This was a horrible idea,” Gabriel muttered to Jack.

“What’re you talking about?” Jack said, chuckling. “They’re getting along fine.”

Ana presented her sniper to Jesse. “Want to use it? Make things a bit more fair.”

Jesse was half-tempted to take it and run but stupid Gabriel was a super soldier and could outrun him easily. So, he shook his head and pulled out his six-shooter, Peacemaker. “Naw, I think I got it.”

“You didn’t search him?” Jack asked.

“I _did_ , stupid kid managed to slip the gun past me.” Gabriel grumbled.

“No need to try so hard, kid,” Ana said, her smile becoming more genuine at Jesse’s confidence. “This is hardly an audition.”

“Watch and learn.”

Quick on the draw, Jesse spun around and belted out six shots. “Draw!” With a fire rate closer to a sub-machine gun, Jesse fired all of his shots in a single instant. Six metallic rings echoed throughout the field.

“Target practice exercise concluded.” An automated voice of a woman spoke aloud, like the voice of God. “Rate of fire: Six rounds per point two-five seconds. Accuracy: one hundred percent.”

A holographic image of his targets exploded over the field, revealing that McCree neatly placed a bullet between the “eyes” of the Jack and Gabriel targets with the remaining four bullets lodged perfectly in Gabriel’s forehead.

Again, Gabriel surged forward as if ready to tackle Jesse but Jack placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Beat that!” Jesse grinned.

Ana raised an eyebrow, smirking at him. “Impressive, mind if I try?”

She extended her hand. Jesse frowned, staring at Ana’s sniper, he thought she would prefer something like that but she was being a bit cocky. Whatever, it’ll be much better when she whiffs it!

He handed her Peacekeeper and she inspected it. Handing Gabriel her sniper, Ana tested the weight of the weapon. Ana reloaded the weapon, spun it, and in an instant fired off all six bullets into the target. Jesse’s eyes widened, she fired like a goddamn expert!

Jesse stared out into the battlefield to find she had perfectly fired a broad smile into a target with Ana’s face painted on it. Jesse’s eye twitched as she handed back his gun, he quickly holstered it and pointed accusatory at Ana. “FIGHT ME!”

Gabriel stepped in quickly, “That’s not a good idea--”

Jack pulled Gabe back and covered his mouth, grinning, “That’s a perfect idea! Come on, don’t you think so Ana?”

Ana grinned. “Oh, yes.”

They quickly moved to the training room. Ana had changed into a white gi while Jesse remained in his street clothes but had the brains to tie up his hair. Ana put on massive boxing gloves on, which irritated Jesse who vehemently refused and opted to fight with his bare-knuckles.

“Is this child stupid?” Ana asked, then she turned to Jesse with genuinely concerned eyes. “You’ll break something, well, maybe not since you won’t even come close to hitting me.”

That was the last straw.

Jesse charged in. “JUDO CHOP!”

Ana side-stepped the wide, and very sloppy, strike, grabbed Jesse arm and flipped him over. “Judo flip!” Ana giggled.

Jesse was quick to his feet and swept his leg toward Ana in a wide-arcing motion. Ana leapt, avoiding the attack altogether and kicked downward. Rolling, Jesse awkwardly dodged that strike and got back on his feet. His fist lashed out fast, like a novice he aimed to punch Ana square in the jaw.

Ana raised an eyebrow and punched at the same time as well. Jesse’s fist connected with Ana’s glove and she felt a few fingers breaking. “OW!!” Jesse cursed, rubbing his hand.

“You fight like a novice,” Ana chided. “Look, speed and strength mean nothing if you cannot protect your body. Keep your shoulders in as you punch and be aware of your surroundings--”

“AHHH!” Jesse charged. Ana sighed and planted a kick into his ribs. Jesse fell over, retching.

“Stop charging in foolishly,” Ana scowled. “Observe your opponent, anticipate their next move then attack--”

“FLYING DRAGON KICK!” Jesse jumped up and spun, swinging a kick toward Ana’s head. Ana ducked and countered with a hard elbow against Jesse’s face.

Gabriel winced as blood gushed from Jesse’s nose. “This is over,” Ana decided, frowning as Jesse cupped his face. “You are hurt, let me take you to the infirmary.”

Jesse lashed out, throwing his blood at Ana’s face but she was faster. She covered her eyes with her arm but her guard dropped for a moment. He jumped up and swiftly planted a punch in Ana’s stomach. “HA!” Jesse cackled, but Ana barely reacted to his punch.

His moment of elation was replaced with confusion as all of a sudden, Jesse was flying across the room directly into the door--

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Jesse’s eyes opened but the lights made him feel dizzy. He tasted copper and his entire body ached, his head felt like someone was compressing it in a metal vice. A cool hand rested on his head, along with a sweet voice muttering in, German?

He looked to the right and saw a pretty young lady sitting next to his bed. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun, her blue eyes twinkled with intrigue as she studied Jesse.

“How are you feeling, Jesse?” she asked, she definitely had an accent. It wasn’t German…

“Like hell,” Jesse grumbled. “Who’re you, by the way, darlin’?”

She grinned then pointed to her name tag, it read: “MEDICAL ASSISTANT: ANGELA ZIEGLER”.

“Ms. Amari threw you ten meters across the room,” Angela explained. “You crashed through the door and into the next room. You startled Torbjörn and passed out immediately.”

“Damn,” Jesse frowned, rubbing his hurt hands. “That fucking hurt…”

“Your fingers should heal,” Angela explained. “Your pride… hm, not too sure about that.”

“You’ve got jokes, blondie,” Jesse chuckled, sitting up but regretting the action as his head felt like someone had split it open with a hammer and glued it back. “I like a sense of humor.”

“Really?” Angela smiled as she pointed toward a screen. It displayed a loop of Jesse’s spar with Ana. He winced everytime he saw himself go down on the floor. “I think you like getting beat up more, Jesse.”

Jesse took a better look at Angela. She was pretty, that was for sure, but she looked about his age. Maybe, 17 or 18? It was a bit odd seeing someone so young in a group like this. “She got lucky…”

“You were lucky you didn’t break any bones,” Angela countered. “It is one thing to pick a fight, another to pick a fight you’ll lose.”

Jesse scowled. It was bad enough he had Gabriel lecturing him every chance he got, but now he had to have someone else do it? “That ain’t any of your business blondie.”

“It is when I have to take care of you,” Angela’s expression softened. “Your other… injuries. They were more extensive and they didn’t heal properly, if I could have a proper look at them--”

“No.” Jesse cut her off, heat rising to his cheeks, not in embarrassment but in anger. “No thanks, blondie. I appreciate your help, but ya’ll don’t need to be sticking yer nose in business that don’t involve you.”

Angela was going to say something (probably something not very nice given her angry expression) but Jack walked into the office. He had changed out of his uniform and into a simple blue shirt that showed off his superhuman physique (not that Jesse was staring).

He smiled kindly at Angela. “Jesse alright then?”

Angela nodded. “Nothing broken, nothing too severe, as you suspected.” Angela reported professionally. “He’s alright, despite his attitude.”

“Thank you, Ange,” Jack said, then turning to Jesse he grinned. “Mind if I talk with him for a moment?”

“Please, be my guest,” Angela said, rolling her eyes and giving McCree the stink eye. “If I am here any longer, his ego would suffocate me.”

“Bedside manner, doc,” Jesse snorted, making a face at Angela as she walked out. “Ya’ll need some better bedside manners!”

“You’re still alive aren’t you?!” Angela shouted as she left the room.

Jack sat next to Jesse on the bed and stared at him. It was difficult not to be intimidated by Jack, his friggin’ biceps were so big they had their own zip code.

“Bet Gabe’s laughing it up,” Jesse mumbled, glaring at Jack.

Jack shrugged and scratched his chin. “Actually, he just got done telling me off for being so irresponsible. Said I should’ve stopped the fight ages ago, said the fight shouldn’t have even happened.”

“What?”

Jack nodded. “Right now, I bet he’s yelling at Ana. She apologized too, by the way, and wanted to be the one who patched you up but Gabe wasn’t having it. He’s real pissed.”

Jesse felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. It was weird to think someone like Gabe cared about Jesse, especially with how often they fought and argued. “That’s… stupid.”

“Not as stupid as you charging Ana.”

Jesse’s expression morphed into absolute anger. “Ya know, I’m gettin’ real sick and tired of hearin’ that! Like Gabe said, why did you even let the fight happen if you knew this would be the result?!”

“Because you needed to learn,” Jack answered, effectively shutting him up. “This wasn’t some… _audition_ , kid, fine but you needed to learn from this experience.”

“Learn what?”

“Two things, actually.” Jack held up two fingers helpfully. “One. There will be someone better than you, this world is vast and you can’t expect to be the ace every single time. You need to learn to accept that and work past that. Ana isn’t a super soldier like Gabe and I, but she has more combat experience and better techniques. Work to your strengths to cover your weaknesses.

“And two. Not to charge in without a plan. If you expect to make it in Overwatch you have to be smart. That lone wolf attitude won’t get you very far.”

Jesse stayed quiet for a while, digesting what Jack said. Jack didn’t wait very long for Jesse’s response, he patted him on the shoulder (which made his whole body hurt) and headed for the door. “Here in Overwatch… we aren’t just a squadron. We look out for each other, we’re… oddities who want to make a difference. Gabe brought you here for good reason, I trust his instinct, but it’s you who has to make the choice. So, you in?”

Jack tossed Jesse an Overwatch badge with his name written on it. Jesse stared at it, it looked custom-made for him since it was in the shape of a golden star, like a sheriff's badge.

“Get some rest, McCree.”

Jesse sat there for a while, just staring at the badge. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there but it was long enough for someone to sneak up on him.

“Reach for the sky~~”

Jesse slowly put his badge down and raised his hands. “I don’t want any trouble, partner.”

“Shoulda thought of that before coming into my neck of the woods, partner.”

Jesse grinned. “You should think twice before sneaking up on me.”

Suddenly, Jesse turned around, his right hand shaped in a finger-gun and pointed it at his would-be assassin. “Draw!” Jesse said before his opponent made the appropriate “BANG BANG” sound-effects to her own finger guns.

Jesse clutched his chest and slumped back against his bed, he was bested by the fastest draw in the West, Zero Designation. In reality, a tiny girl in a cowboy nightdress was standing behind Jesse’s bed, victoriously dancing at her accomplishment of fake-shooting Jesse.

The girl danced, grinning proudly and swinging her cowboy hat around. Jesse couldn’t help but laugh at the act. She was probably about eleven or so? Her dark brown skin was offset by her baby-blue dress with dancing cowboys on the fabric. She had a perfect smile, embellished only slightly by missing molars. Her brown eyes shone excitingly as she hopped on Jesse’s bed, pointing her hat at him.

“You like _Zero Designation_ too?!” she asked, her accent distinctively Arabic, in fact she sounded like a tinier version of Ana.

Jesse smiled and nodded. The two were just reenacting the famous scene in the classic Western _Zero Designation_ where the titular character, Zero Designation, an omnic Sheriff encounters an outlaw vigilante (the character Jesse was playing) Barbara “Deadeye” Kennedy and the two attack each other. Barbara survives the encounter with Zero Designation and accepts his offer to become his duty.

Barbara, however, never could accept Zero Designation’s strict regulation and rules. She grew weary of Zero’s insistence of doing nothing of the roaming bandits attacking neighboring towns because they left _his_ town alone. Eventually, Barbara hunted down the bandits, taking them out one by one but Zero then considered her an outlaw and tried to bring her in for arrest. The two eventually teamed up to take on a gang, Zero was killed in the bout and Barbara survived, becoming the new Sheriff.

Jesse loved the film and loved Barbara even more. Even though she wasn’t _technically_ the protagonist (irritatingly enough) Jesse always considered her the main character. Everyone adored the film but hated the fact that Zero Designation was killed being the main character and all, that led to a bunch of spin-offs and prequels, even a sequel where he was brought back to life but was turned evil. What was the film called? Oh, right _Six-Gun Killer_.

“I knew you were a fan of the movie,” the little girl continued, smiling proudly. “You look _exactly_ like Deadeye Babs! You got the hair and everything!”

“Yer a fan of _Zero Designation_?” Jesse asked, smiling as well.

The girl nodded so fiercely, Jesse thought her head would come off. “Babs is my favorite, it’s so stupid that they gave her a love interest in the sequel. But I loved her in the first movie. Got the hat and everything!”

She proudly presented her cowboy hat which was three sizes too big for her. Jesse laughed, impressed at what a fangirl she was. Normally, people were a fan of Zero, not Barbara. They called her “forced” or “unrelatable”. When in reality, she was the protagonist. She was the underdog, the one _everyone_ underestimated because she was a girl or because of her prosthetic arm.

They liked Zero, the by-the-books hero. But Jesse hated him. He hated that he underestimated Babs, that he never took her seriously. That he thought he was doing Babs a _favor_ for sparing her and offering her the deputy position.

“What’s your name?”

“Fareeha Amari,” she said with a proud smile. “My mommy beat you up.”

“Yeah she did,” he frowned. “What’re you doing here kid, shouldn’t you be home?”

Fareeha looked at Jesse with a strange expression. She placed her hat on her head and mustered the most badass glare possible. “This is my home, partner. After all, justice ain’t gonna dispense itself.”

Spot-on impression of Deadeye, Jesse patted Fareeha on the head, squishing her hat a bit. The girl giggled at the act and hopped on the bed, sitting cross-legged next to Jesse. “We move around a lot, so, mommy had Torbjörn build a room for me and she got me this hat!”

“Sounds tough,” Jesse muttered, remembering his rather unfortunate childhood.

“Naah,” Fareeha grinned. “I miss my friends from Giza but Overwatch is so cool! They save the world like a hundred times! Is that why you’re here? You’re gonna be in Overwatch too?”

“I suppose. But if I join, I’m gonna need a deputy, ya know.”

Fareeha’s face lit up like Christmas morning, she smiled so wide and nodded. “YEAH! I always wanted to be a hero like Deadeye, like mommy!”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Pinkie swear you’ll uphold justice like Deadeye.”

Fareeha held out her pinkie. Jesse took it gingerly and pinkie swore. With a bright smile, Fareeha handed Jesse her hat. “It mighttt look better on you,” she told him.

“Alright, here you go then kid,” Jesse traded the hat for his badge, which she proudly pinned to her chest.

“Do you know where Ms. Ziegler is?” Fareeha asked. “I gotta show her this!”

Jesse wasn’t sure Angela would approve of Fareeha hanging out with him… so of course he told her where Angela went. Fareeha went charging out the room, looking for Blondie while Jesse examined his new hat.

“Kid’s got a point,” Jesse said to no one in particular. “Justice ain’t gonna dispense itself.”

He stood, patting his hat on his head and opened the door to the infirmary. Ana Amari stood outside, looking embarrassed (well, as embarrassed as she could be) with Gabriel Reyes in tow. Jesse smiled at Ana. “I was wonderin’ if you could teach me some moves, Ana.”

Ana blinked. “Uh, y-yes of course.”

“Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” Jesse turned to Gabe. “And you promised to train me as well, Gabe. Hold you ain’t gonna back out of that deal.”

Gabriel chuckled. “Hell no, kid.”

“Let’s get started then.”


	4. Lena Oxton: Agent of Talon (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this amazing fanart http://jawlipops.tumblr.com/post/148780714950/finally-got-around-to-drawin-it
> 
> I literally saw it this morning and had to write. I will definitely be writing a part 2 soon enough when I have more time, but seriously, check out the artist and give them some love!

Amélie Lacroix leapt from the building as the bomb detonated. Heat washed over her, pushing her downward, threatening to send the agent into a violent spiral but with the grace of a dancer she caught herself at the last moment and rolled into safety.

Her comms were exploding with a cacophony of gunfire, explosions and yelling. All of them were yammering about a particular agent, someone too fast to see, before they yelp and gurgle as they choke on their blood.

Amélie cursed as she reflexively reloaded her rifle. She hadn’t expected her to be here tonight, she was sloppy. Now she will cost the lives of a few good men and women for her inconsideration. Amélie activated her tactical visor and scanned the rooftops.

The London skyline was beautiful at the break of dawn, dotted with lines from new Omnic-built skyscrapers. Even the newly cleaned River Thames glittered beautifully in the light. Her visor wasn’t coming up with anything, not that it mattered all things considered. 

Amélie needed to reconverge with her group, perhaps Soldier 76 managed to defend the rendezvous point--

“Psst, whatcha looking at?”

Amélie jumped away but Tracer was too fast. She blinked behind Amélie, giggling like a madwoman, and fired at her. Twisting in mid-air, Amélie quickly rolled to the ground and came up with sprinting, switching her rifle into automatic and sprayed at her blinking target.

Tracer giggled, blinking in and out of existence so that her laughter carried everywhere, like a Siren. Amélie touched her earpiece. “Converge on my location,” she spoke into her mic. “Tracer is here, I require assistance!”

Tracer must’ve heard that because her giggling immediately stopped. She blinked in front of Amélie and kicked her gun away. Amélie spun, kicking at Tracer’s head, but she blinked forward and shoved Amélie, hard. 

Amélie fell to the ground and Tracer placed a foot on her chest, aiming her pistols at her face and laughed derisively. “Aw, the itsy-bitsy spider is feeling a bit scared aren’t ya?” Tracer grinned, her chronal accelerator lit up blood-red casting an ominous shadow over her face. “Calling for back up? Tsk, tsk. Why’d you gotta ruin our fun, Widow?”

Amélie struggled to move Tracer’s foot, growling, “Do not call me that, Lena.”

Tracer’s psychotic expression morphed into absolute anger. She pressed on Amélie’s chest harder. “It’s Tracer, love. Lena’s dead, you saw that happen when you bloody shot me in the chest.”

With a free hand, Tracer pointed to her chronal accelerator. It was transparent, but Amélie knew exactly what she was referring to. Her chronal accelerator was refitted now, perfectly built into Tracer’s chest. You could see inside her chest now, where her heart used to be, there was nothing there. It was completely hollow.

“Don’t matter much anyways,” Tracer said, grinning as if the idea of having a hollowed out chest was funny. “Talon is way more fun than Overwatch. Oi, didja know they even got paid vacation. Ya know, you could probably join us if you’d ask.”

“Join the likes of you?” Amélie laughed as best she could with boots against her chest. “A bunch of thugs and assassins, never.”

“Come on, Ammie~,” Tracer laughed, moving her foot she promptly sat on Amélie’s waist, using her grappling hook she tied and anchored Amélie’s hands to the roof. “It’ll be fun, the two of us together again. Like old times.”

“Like when you killed Gérard?” Amélie’s voice cracked as she couldn’t find the energy any more to fight. She remembered when she found Gérard, he looked like he was just sleeping but then she turned him around and saw the bullet holes…

Tracer frowned and scratched her cheek. “Eh, you’re still hung up ‘bout that ain’t ya? Well, you got me back for that didn’t you?” She tapped her chronal accelerator. “Too bad you missed.”

“If I recall, I didn’t miss.” It was Amélie’s turn to smile, she looked downright murderous. “You died, Lena, as you said. I was there, no pulse, cherie. But that damnned Reyes got to you first. I won.”

“Not this time, love.” Tracer placed her pistol flush against Amélie’s forehead. “Bang.”


	5. Hanzo Takes a Nap

Hanzo leaned back and relaxed as his last arrow perfectly acquired its target. He hadn’t meant to but he had ended up training in the range for several hours now. Depleting all of his arrows at one point, Hanzo switched it up to close-quarters combat whilst the very helpful AI Athena generated new arrows for him.

Before he knew it, it was painfully late, he was drenched in sweat, his muscles ached and exhaustion weighed on his shoulders. Hanzo had only been in Overwatch, at the behest of his brother, for about three weeks and found it difficult to fit in. Granted, the group was a motley assortment of chaos and disorder but Hanzo nonetheless felt out of place.

Genji’s attempts to help him get along with the group were kind and appreciated but in vain. Everytime he looked at Genji, Hanzo felt his mind slipping away, as if darkness were swallowing his mental faculties whole.

This place, ironically enough, was a haven for Hanzo. To get away from his self-inflicted anxiety and worries. He only felt at ease when in combat.

“ _Shall I reset the course, Shimada-san?_ ” The disembodied voice of Athena boomed overhead, conversing in perfect Japanese for Hanzo’s comfort. She was a helpful, invisible ally for Hanzo. Quiet when he needed her to be, but very vocal about his abnormal sleep patterns.

“ _No need_ ,” Hanzo responded back respectfully. “ _Thank you, Athena. But as I have informed you before, please, call me Hanzo_.”

“ _Apologies, Hanzo_ ,” Athena quipped, almost playfully. “ _The request must have timed out hours ago when you first asked._ ”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. Her concern was kind, nothing akin to a mother but more like a playful older sister. Hanzo ran a hand through his hair, now let down due to the intensity of his work-out. “ _I understand, Athena. I suppose it would be good to rest my eyes._ ”

“ _And everything else_.” The lights of the training arena began dimming as Hanzo exited the range and head toward the locker room.

It was a lavish, stylish establishment. With rows and rows of lockers dominating the space, each one carrying a white placard with the names of the owner's’ written on there. Too many of these lockers seemed long-abandoned.

Hanzo headed toward his locker, his name reading SHIMADA HANZO. Opening it, he didn’t find many things inside. A change of clothes, some equipment, the ridiculous hooded sweatshirt Genji had gotten him his first week here. Hanzo considered the hoodie.

Removing his top, Hanzo slipped the hoodie on. On his chest was the Overwatch emblem design and on the back was something from Tracer and Genji apparently. The archaic language was lost to Hanzo but it was something the younger members of Overwatch greatly appreciated, they called it, ah, what was the word. _Retro_?

On his back in huge bolded letters read #TEAMSHIMADA. He wasn’t sure what the message meant exactly only that whenever Hana Song saw him she would flash him a grin, make a heart shape with her hands and state the message aloud.

Hanzo walked over to the east side of the locker room and spotted a few couches. It felt out of place to have several leather couches set up here but Hanzo appreciated its comfort. Sitting upon the couch, Hanzo sighed deeply as comfort and tranquility seeped into his aching muscles.

He closed his eyes, hoping for rest to come quickly. Hanzo had been having trouble sleeping nowadays but he couldn’t help it. Everytime he looked at Genji… the guilt gnawed at his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He longed to see Genji smile again. Hanzo wondered if he ever would…

With a start, Hanzo opened his eyes but found he wasn’t in the locker room anymore.

The bright, summer sun shone down on Hanzo, granting him dark splotches in his vision as a thanks for staring directly at it. A cool breeze blew over Hanzo’s hair, and he heard the familiar cadence of cicadas screeching in the air.

Hanzo looked forward and saw he was sitting in the middle of a park. A large sandpit was situation in the middle, nestled in-between a decently sized canopy of trees and greenery. A colorful structure of tunnels, nets, and slides occupied the sandpit. Off to the side were an array of swings; of tires and bench.

Kids played on the jungle-gym, some dutifully playing fantasy games of knights and dragons, some swung haphazardly on the swings and some content to sit in the sand and play with their action figures. Hanzo recognized this place, it was the park just outside of Hanamura, closer toward the countryside on the western region.

Hanzo’s mother used to take him and Genji out here every weekend. It was his favorite time with her and it was only until he reached adulthood that he realized why she would take them here. To get away from the blood-drenched Shimada family.

Hanzo looked down at his hands and was unsurprised to find them tiny and diminutive. Looking at his legs he found he wasn’t tall enough to reach the ground from his seated position. Hanzo had the body of a seven year old again.

Ah, a dream.

Hanzo exhaled through his nose. How annoying. He remembered something his elderly uncle used to say, “ _You know age begins to weigh on you when you dream of the past!_ ”

Perhaps this was his subconscious telling him he was beginning to get old. Hanzo shook his head and began to examine his clothing, distracting himself from his uncle’s words. He was dressed as a child should be, he wore a bright yellow-black shirt with a cartoonish design of a bumblebee on his chest along with the English phrase BEE COOL written underneath it.

His shorts and sneakers matched perfectly and almost immaculately, the thought of being so well-dressed comforted him. Running his hands through his hair, he found his hair was rather long, it density weighing on Hanzo’s head like a blanket.

“Is that him?”

Hanzo blinked and stared, in confusion, at the little girl who was pointing at her. First point of confusion, she wasn’t Japanese. That much was obvious by her lilting British accent and use of English. Second point of confusion, Hanzo knew this girl.

She stood a ways away from him and was pointing directly at him. Her brown hair exploded from her head in a curly mess barely being contained by a hairband, exposing her forehead. Her brown eyes twinkled with curiosity and excitement which matched her smug smirk. Her skin was darkly tanned, making the splash of freckles on her face turn almost beet red. Tanlines around her neck and shoulders could be seen though.

The girl wore a shirt that read, in English of course, PRESS HERE TO ACTIVATE MY BRITISH ACCENT along with the Union Jack being fashioned into a button right where her belly-button would’ve been. Like Hanzo, she wore shorts and running shoes.

Lena Oxton, or Tracer, of Overwatch stood in front of him. Despite there being an age difference of twelve years between the two, this version of Lena looked to be Hanzo’s age.

“What the f--”

“ _Big brother_!”

A tiny boy ran out from behind Lena and ran toward him and Hanzo forgot how to breath. It was like someone placed his heart in a mechanical press. Genji ran toward him, his eyes filled with tears and a bright smile on his face. He was about 4 years old but he didn’t look how he did at that age.

His hair was colored green and a metallic headband framed his forehead. He wore a white shirt (suspiciously stained pink and brown, like ice-cream stains) and white shorts and wore his favorite light-up sneakers. In one of his hands he held a half-eaten, half-melted ice-cream cone and when he embraced Hanzo he was very sticky.

Hanzo flushed in embarrassment and almost instinctively pushed Genji off him but the boy cried, muttering in Japanese on how he got lost in the park after Hanzo took a nap. Hanzo reminded himself that this was just a dream… It was just a dream…

But still, Hanzo hugged him back and patted his head. “ _It’s okay, Genji. I am here. You’re okay._ ”

Hanzo looked up at Lena who was standing by, grinning and giggling to herself. Hanzo put two and two together. Genji must have gotten lost and Lena found him and returned him to Hanzo. He wondered if she knew Japanese at this age but then remembered it was just a dream.

“ _Arigat--_ er, that is. Thank you, for finding my brother.” Hanzo blinked in surprise at how perfect his English was.

Lena winked at Hanzo and grinned. “It’s not a problem at all,” she promised. “My little sis runs off all the time, so, I’m pretty good at finding little siblings.”

Hanzo didn’t know that Lena had a sister and wondered if that was a product of his dream. “I am Hanzo Shimada, this is my brother Genji.”

“Hi!” Genji said, grinning broadly. “I’m Genji!”

“Lena Oxton, at your service,” Lena giggled, a sound that reminded Hanzo of delicate bells. She approached the bench and stared at the empty spot beside Hanzo. “May I?”

Hanzo nodded and Lena sat to his right with Genji to his left. Hanzo glanced at her chest, surprised that she wasn’t wearing her time-manipulation device. He wondered when she had gotten it, in fact, he wondered a lot of things about her. Lena caught Hanzo gaze and he blushed, turning away but she grinned knowingly at him.

“Cool shirt innit?” Lena asked, stretching out her shirt to get a better view. “ _Mamaí_ got it for me when we were walkin’ through Oxford Street. Ro didn’t like it but _silim go bhfuil sé greannmhar_ , haha!”

Hanzo blinked, confused entirely by her sudden slip but Lena hadn’t seemed to notice it. He knew what it was like, though, being taught multiple languages growing up. As a child, Hanzo had to learn several languages ranging from Japanese and English to French and German. It was a skill necessary to communicate with other leaders of various organizations.

It was particularly bad when he was seventeen. Spending weeks if not months abroad he would have to rapidly alternate between languages to keep up in social events. When he came back to Genji he confused the poor boy when he slipped from Japanese and jumped to Italian instinctively.

“Ah, sorry,” Hanzo said, offering a weak smile. “I am afraid I do not understand that language.”

Lena blushed and laughed loudly but it was not to embarrass Hanzo but to cover her own shame. “Sorry, sorry, um, basics it’s Irish.”

Hanzo stared at Lena, earning another blush from the girl, and wondered if he could see the Irish in her. She certainly didn’t have the accent and as far as he knew she never brought up her heritage at all.

“I see.”

Lena nodded. “Me mum and dad were proper Irish, both from Tipperary! Me mom from the south, dad from the north.”

“Were?”

Lena paused, looking uncomfortable and Hanzo felt a pit in his stomach form. “Ah, apologies, you do not need to explain further if you do not want to.”

Lena shook her head. “No, it’s fine, I just get a bit weird with this. Ah. Basically, they died during the Omnic uprising of Dublin. I don’t really remember much about them, to be honest, I was only like three or something. I was moved to England shortly after and I was adopted by the Oxton family.”

Hanzo nodded, completely understanding her situation. He didn’t wish to give her consolation because it would have felt false, just some generic thing people doll out like an obligation. “I understand…”

Looking over at Genji, he seemed more absorbed into his treat than this conversation. Tentatively, Hanzo patted Genji on the head, earning a tiny giggle from him.

“You’re a nice brother,” Lena noted.

Hanzo scoffed bitterly. “I was not there when he needed me the most.” Turning to Lena, his eyes were hard and cold. “I… _hurt_ him. That is not what a brother does.”

Lena’s smile melted into a frown and she considered her next words. “I hurt my sister a long time ago. I was dumb and made mistakes that would have cost my sister her life. But it didn’t. She survived, she didn’t get hurt.”

Lena took Hanzo’s hand and squeezed it. “You don’t have to be perfect, love, you just have to be you and learn. That’s all my sister wants, that’s all Genji wants. Accept your mistakes and learn from them.”

Hanzo looked into Lena’s brown eyes. So earnest and pure, it was hard to believe she was coping with all of this. Hanzo wondered how much of this was true and how much was just his imagination. “I never thanked you, Lena.”

“For what?”

“Finding Genji.”

Lena giggled. “It was easy, he was sitting over there, crying for his big brother.”

Hanzo shook his head. “No. I meant in Hanamura. After I had… hurt him, you found him, amidst the ice and snow and saved him. I never thanked you for that.”

Lena scratched the back of her head, her ears pink with embarrassment. “No problem, love. You know… he misses you, right?”

Hanzo looked at Genji, busily consuming his ice-cream with fervor, lost in his own little world. That was difficult to believe, that he would miss Hanzo, the man who _murdered_ him. He remembered fighting him a second time at Hanamura, unaware of his true identity. No. Hanzo was aware, the way Genji moved was not something that could imitated by just anyone.

Hanzo didn’t want to believe he was fighting Genji again. He wanted to believe it was some ghost, some apparition sent to haunt Hanzo for his crimes. When Genji opened his visor to reveal his scarred visage…

Lena squeezed his hand harder, breaking him out of his thoughts. “He does,” she promised. “He just doesn’t know how to say it.”

“That I believe,” Hanzo chuckled. “Genji always had a silver tongue but when it came to honesty he was, ah, _rubbish_ at it.”

Lena giggled. “Don’t you think it’s time to rest, Hanzo?”

“I _am_ resting,” Hanzo scoffed. “This little dream of mine is proof.”

Lena shook her head. “You are sleeping, but you aren’t resting.”

“What is the difference?”

“I’ll show you!”

Lena released Hanzo’s hand, scooted closer to Hanzo and laid her head on his lap. Hanzo flinched at the proximity of her presence but she looked up at him, with those earnest eyes, and smiled. “This is how you rest, with people you care about.”

To Hanzo’s left, Genji yawned and placed his head on Hanzo’s shoulder, falling asleep instantly. “People you care about,” Hanzo repeated.

Lena nodded. “We’re friends, ain’t we?”

Slowly, Hanzo nodded. “Therefore, it’s only natural we nap together!”

Hanzo wasn’t sure if he could follow that train of thought but he conceded, just now realizing how exhausted his body was. His eyelids felt heavy as he leaned back on the bench, allowing himself to become more comfortable.

“Perhaps… for a little while, I can rest.”

Lena didn’t respond and she began to lightly snore as she slept.

Hanzo’s eyes opened. The park was gone, replaced with an unfamiliar pristine ceiling and a room filled with lockers. It took Hanzo a moment to realize he was in the Overwatch locker room. His shoulders felt stiff and his neck ached and there was a strange weight on his body as if someone was sitting on him.

Looking to his left, he saw Genji in his robotic form leaned up against Hanzo’s shoulder. His arms were crossed and although his mask covered his face, Hanzo could hear light snoring from him. Unsurprisingly, he looked down on his lap to see Lena curled up and sleeping, her chronal accelerator’s light was dim and inert.

Sighing, Hanzo thought of the many ways he could chastise these two for not waking him and instead using him as an impromptu pillow. He thought of the colorful language he would use to berate these… _children_.

But his shoulders ached, his eyelids were heavy. First, a short nap is sorely needed. Hanzo closed his eyes and went back to his nice dream of little brothers and ice-cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the lovely Snowsheba, I want to provide a few headcanons of mine at the end of each chapter.
> 
> * Tracer and Genji are pretty good friends, besties even, it helps that she knows Japanese and they tend to gossip about everyone else back in the good old days  
> * As implied by this chapter, Tracer is the one who found Genji after he was killed by Hanzo. She immediately blinked and brought him to Mercy. Mercy notes that if it were anyone else (besides Mercy) who found Genji, he would've died  
> * When Genji recruited Hanzo and explained that it was Tracer who found him, Hanzo was eternally grateful but sucks at talking about his emotions. He never did thank her, not even after this dream  
> * Instead, Hanzo acted like Tracer's big brother, making her food, bringing her blankets and comforting her during thunderstorms   
> * Since the Slipstream accident, Tracer has an intense fear of thunder. The thunder sounded too much like the malfunctioning Slipstream engine  
> * Tracer is a big sister, by three years, and is intensively protective of her. If Overwatch wasn't illegal now, she would def invite her to meet the gang


End file.
